


you are my sunshine

by Frosty_thesnowman



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Boyd and Erica are alive, Derek is grieving, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, Pack Issues, Stiles Dies, allison didn’t die, implied suicide, nobody in the pack besides derek makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 18:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20050270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frosty_thesnowman/pseuds/Frosty_thesnowman
Summary: The other night, dearAs I lay sleepingI dreamed I held you in my armsWhen I awoke, dearI was mistakenAnd I hung my head and cried••••••Derek deals with the death of his husband





	you are my sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> i figured out that you are my sunshine is kind of a depressing song and went from there

According to his phone it had been exactly three months since Stiles’ death. The coroner had ruled it natural causes, but Derek knew the truth. Stiles had been murdered. A coven of witches had been seeking revenge against some imagined slight and Stiles had payed the consequence. Or perhaps Derek was paying the consequence. Either way the witches had definitely succeeded.

The Pack wasn’t that much of a pack, not really. It was more of a group of loosely connected individuals. Barely any of them were even still living in Beacon Hills. Lydia was working at Harvard, Jackson was in London, Issac was in Paris, Allison and Scott were living in New York, and Boyd and Erica had decided to move to Pennsylvania of all places. Only Derek and Stiles were left; or rather, only Derek.

Derek has never grieved well. He’d harbored guilt for his family’s murder for well over eight years and had only stopped after lots of therapy and werewolf-grade antidepressants. All of that growth destroyed in one day.  
So he lay on the bed he used to share and he mourned for everyone he’d ever lost. Derek has spent most of his life mourning something. He couldn’t remember what it was like to not carry that weight around. 

[That’s why you have big muscles. They’re full of grief.] 

God, he seemed to hear Stiles everywhere. His only comfort was that no, Stiles wasn’t a ghost (Deacon had confirmed), and if he were, he probably wouldn’t be bullying his grieving husband. Though he wouldn’t put it totally past Stiles.

It took all of his effort to get up that day. The three month anniversary of his husband’s death. Soon the months would accumulate and Stiles would be dead longer than they’d been married. What a depressing thought. 

Sheriff Parrish gave him a sympathetic smile as soon as he entered the precinct and Derek winced internally. That was probably a good marker for how today would go. 

He’d been on desk duty ever since he’d gotten back from mandatory leave and he hated every minute of it. Everyone who passed had to comment on how sorry they were for his loss and did he need anything? or worse they reminisced. He already knew Stiles had been an asshole as a child thank you very much. 

[You’re just as much of an asshole, that’s why we’re the dream team.]

But he stayed because if he didn’t he’d stay at home wallowing in grief and imagining his husband was speaking to him through the grave. The least the dead bastard could do is give him this week’s lotto numbers.

The day passed quickly. Paperwork, lunch, paperwork, leave. He usually headed to the diner for dinner or passed by Melissa and The Sheriff’s house (always the sheriff in his mind despite the fact he’d retired years ago). He wasn’t really feeling either today, so he went home, to his too big house in the middle of fucking no where. 

[It was for the pack, once.]

The house was as empty as he had left it. He made dinner and checked his notifications while watching Sports Center. There were two missed calls from Erica and an email from Issac. There was also a text from Scott that he’d ignored earlier. All basically said the same thing: Are You Okay? Of course he wasn’t. He’d appreciate if one of them would ask in person though. They never came home. 

He couldn’t really blame them. He’d turned Erica, Boyd and Issac when they were sixteen. All three had been in a rather bad place at the time, and then he’d thrown them into some horrible situations, no doubt leaving them with more mental issues then they’d begun with. It wasn’t their fault they wanted to distance themselves from this place. But did they have to distance themselves from Derek?

(On his worst days Derek blames them. If they had just been here Stiles might not have died.)

After pretending to care about the Laker’s loss, Derek called it a night. He pulled himself up from the couch and up the stairs to his too-big-bed and tried to sleep.

And like every night since the funeral, he dreamed. He dreamed of spooning Stiles. Of holding his husband close, of breathing in his scent (a little bit like fresh pine and computer keys) and of the moon lightly reflecting off of his pale skin. He dreamed of Stiles shifting in his sleep and saying Derek’s name while he dreamed. Derek dreamed that Stiles’ brows were furrowed in dream confusion and that his boxers were riding up a bit on his hips. Derek dreamed that day old love bites littered his skin and that he could see a small scar on his arm from burning the bacon four months earlier.  
Derek dreamed all of this. It felt so realistic, every minute detail was there; but when he opened his eyes he was alone.

[Count your fingers, look at clocks- that’s how you know what’s real and what’s not.]

It was three months and a day since Stiles had died. He should visit The Sheriff today.

And thus the day began just like the one before. The next day would be the same, and the day after that, with only small differences between them. Each day Derek felt himself falling deeper into that dreamland. It was harder and harder to wake up. 

One day, he wouldn’t.


End file.
